


More Than They'd Care To Admit

by internetconnection



Category: British Actor RPF, Good Omens (TV) RPF
Genre: DT's does but he has permission, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Porn with Feelings, chaotic dork sweetness, in which Michael Sheen's personal life doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 17:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetconnection/pseuds/internetconnection
Summary: Michael has too many feelings. Many of them are aimed at David.





	More Than They'd Care To Admit

  1. ** Cape Town, 2017**

"I'm going to miss him," Michael said. "You know. Being him."

David had knocked on Michael's trailer with a friendliness masking slight concern. _ Just wanted to make sure you knew when everyone was planning on getting together tomorrow _, he'd said, but it was an excuse to come see him.

Filming had just ended -- the very last bit of it, for them, in the old stone church, David hop-dancing down the aisle, Michael playing as much melodrama as they'd let him get away with. Michael, insistent that this was the scene where his character fell in love, figuratively tripping over his own big-heartedness, looking ever-so-slightly helplessly upward. 

Michael had hugged and shook hands and clapped backs with everyone else on set --_ that's a wrap, congratulations, great work, get a rest now _ \-- but the character was still there, simmering, and Michael hadn't wanted to let him go. Michael had decided he should get more pictures, which turned out to be a misty-eyed selfie in his trailer, before Aziraphale's costume had to go back to wardrobe. 

Once that was done, Michael sat. And then he continued to sit, on the bed, hands clasped and spine still overly straight, because he didn't know what to _ do_. 

So David had knocked, looking practically normal, jeans and a t-shirt, his hair short and settled with the red dye half-washed out. "Just wanted to see how you were doing," David said, gangly and smiling, completely himself.  
  
And Michael had tried to explain, as David sat on the bed beside him, but the best he could come up with was _ I'm going to miss him, _ and then he had practically started to cry. Which was embarrassing, how often he'd been on the verge of crying. He could try to justify it, professionally, _ as actors we're very in touch with our emotions _ \-- but this wasn't it. He wasn't _ supposed _ to be crying. 

David cradled Michael's face in his hands, wiped a tear away with his thumb, and drew him into a kiss.  
  
It was a _ cinematic _ kiss, Michael thought later, a grand sweeping movement, a very deliberate sort of move. The kiss bent around him, pulling him along with it. It was a savoring kiss, that said _ let me give you something_. It said 'you're fantastic' and 'you don't deserve sadness,' but more than this. 

It was the sort of kiss that knew you better than you thought. Michael closed his eyes and let it happen. 

David kissed him on the forehead, then pressed their foreheads together. "You were incredible," he said. "And not just because you've been flirting with me since the table read."  
  
Michael laughed quietly. "Ah, you noticed that?"

"Hmm," said David, in a tone that sounded like _ somewhat. _It faded into an "mmm," that noticed how close their lips were together, still. 

"I spent all this time," Michael admitted, half-whispering, "wanting ever so badly to be just ever so slightly closer to you."  
  
David kissed him again, sweet and quick, and Michael threw his arms around his neck, threw himself at David, threw the both of them onto the bed. David laughed but kept kissing him, carding his long fingers through Michael's short, soft hair. David let him take off his shirt, and Michael pressed his fingertips into David's skin, grounding, making it feel real.  
  
"Yes?" David asked, his hands beginning to move under Michael's clothes.  
  
"Yes," said Michael, shirt discarded, as David's hands smoothed toward his pants. 

"You were really so terribly good," David breathed in his ear, one arm around him, the other hand stroking Michael's cock in long, slow movements. Michael, beyond words, nodded at the next question. David licked a streak up the shaft of Michael's cock, and then down the other side.  
  
David sucked cock like he kissed, deliberate, savoring. Michael felt his whole body tense somewhere beneath him, his breath coming in quick, rhythmic bursts. He fought the moan that was rising out of him and lost, collapsing back onto the bed as the hot rush of orgasm broke through. 

He pulled David back up into a kiss, holding him close, chest pounding. "Thank you," Michael said, feeling both cherished and absurd.  
  
David rubbed his cheek on Michael's chest, and kissed it instead of answering.  
  
After snuggling, David attempted to roll away, and Michael caught him by the hips.  
  
"Oh no," Michael said. "You're not getting away so easily."

David giggled, because he was charming, and ridiculous. 

"Shall I?" Michael said, joking but not joking. He felt like himself again, and also like a tiger, ready to pounce. 

David had barely given his half-giggled 'sure' before he took him in his mouth. 

Michael wanted it, and relished it, and tried not to think about how he looked, but when he glanced upward, David had yielded, head thrown back, a gasping mess. Michael worked his lips and tongue until David's cock twitched in his mouth. 

Afterwards, they lay together, smiling a little at the strangeness, but more so at the comfort.  
  
"You know," Michael reflected. "I haven't sucked a cock since drama school."  
  
"Really?" David said, in genuine surprise. "Not in a touring company or anything?"  
  
Michael didn't feel like rehashing his relationship history at the moment. But it did make him think of something else. 

  
"I'm not breaking up your marriage, am I? Hate it when that happens."  
  
David waved a hand. "Oh, don't worry. You're on the list."  
  
Michael's eyes lit up. He suppressed a chortle. "You've got a list?"  
  
"Sure we do. The 'permission to have a go if you get the chance, don't have to wait up for me' list."  
  
Michael hooted, delighted. "Who else is on the list?"  
  
"Hardly anyone. Very prestigious." 

Michael cocked his head, an idea just occurring to him. "Did you fuck John Barrowman?"  
  
David screwed up his face in an expression of mockery that either meant 'of course' or 'of course not.' As it was, it was inscrutable. "Who hasn't?" 

Another thought occurred to him. "You know," Michael said, "regardless of critical reception or anything like that, when this comes out, with your Crowley and my Aziraphale, there's going to be a lot of very good pornography --"  
  
David batted at him with a pillow. "_Hush _." 

  


  1. ** New York City, October 2018  
**

"We've got a few hours before the panel," Michael said, ducking into the VIP area of the convention hall to find David. "Grab a coffee?"

David peered out into a very crowded and partially costumed convention floor, that couldn't quite see him. "Weird time to have a panel, don't you think?" David said. "Nobody's seen it yet. Feels like a bit of a circle-jerk."  
  
Michael loved the way David's accent bent around those last syllables.  
  
"Well," Michael said, bouncing on his heels, cheeky, eyebrows waggling. "Not a bad use of an evening."  
  
David tilted his head to give Michael a look out of the corner of his eye, suspicious.  
  
Michael returned it, eyebrows raised, suggestive. 

"I like your hair," David said, earnestly regarding the return of Michael's wild gray curls.  
  
"I like what's left of your beard."  
  
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"  
  
"Skip the coffee?" Michael suggested, hopefully.  
  
"Skip the coffee," David agreed.

They escaped out the back and up to David's hotel room with alarming speed. Michael threw himself around David, kissing him without thinking, and David caught him, stopping them both from falling into the wall. David kissed back, his breathing loud and rough. He paused to wrestle out of his shirt, tossing it on the floor, and then drew Michael back to him, his fingers in his hair. Michael pressed his hands into David's back, lips lingering on his lips. David discarded the rest of his clothes, pulling Michael's shirt off as he flung both their bodies toward the bed. 

David hit it first, with a bounce. Michael followed, with a laugh. 

Michael leaned over David, who was propped up on his elbows, nonchalantly on display. One of Michael's silver curls hit David's forehead. "You know this is madness."  
  
"Oh, for sure." David's voice dipped around the syllables again, silly and sweet.  
  
"And we're definitely doing it."  
  
"Definitely," David agreed. 

Michael felt himself growl appreciatively, delighted by the length of David's body. He dragged a hand over David's side, squeezing hip, buttock, thigh. Michael realized that he was the one still wearing pants, and turned himself around to take care of that, muttering a quick apology. David scooted into a seated position against the headboard, and started rummaging in his things on the bedside table.  
  
When Michael turned back around, David had produced a tube of lubricant. Michael giggled.  
  
"What," David said. "I'm being practical."  
  
"So there's -- there's this speculation on the internet --"  
  
David frowned. "This feels like it might be something you ought not to tell me."  
  
Michael ignored this. "That as the Tenth Doctor, your character desperately wanted to get pegged."  
  
David looked confused, and adorable. "Pegged as what?"  
  
"You _ cannot _ be serious."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Pegged, like the lady's got a strap-on."  
  
David's eyebrows stayed creased. "The internet said that?"  
  
"Pure speculation," Michael reassured.  
  
David rolled back onto the bed. "So now you're saying, he's prepared, it must be true, he's getting it in the ass constantly."  
  
Michael gave him a shrug that wasn't a shrug.  
  
"Well I wouldn't say _ constantly _ ," David said. "But it's been an option."  
  
"That's sweet," Michael said.  
  
"Don't tell the internet."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Michael said, moving to straddle David again, properly naked this time. He cupped David's face and kissed it, letting out an undignified groan at the sensation of their bodies pressed together. David combed a hand back into Michael's hair and guided him downward. Michael kissed down David's neck, nibbling and sucking at the base of it. 

David smacked him on the shoulder. "Bite below the collar, you animal. That'll mark."  
  
Michael obliged, and sicced himself on David's collarbone. David's gasps were hurried and shallow. Michael licked down to a nipple. David gave a strangled cry in the back of his throat, and kicked Michael in the shin.  
  
With a splayed hand, Michael held down the thigh of the offending leg. "What was that?"  
  
David shook his head, wordless. Michael slid his hand from the thigh up toward his stomach, and David jumped again. 

"Don't tell me you're ticklish," Michael said.  
  
David gulped for air. "Fine, I won't."  
  
"How do you manage," Michael said. "Should I avoid --?"  
  
"No, you go, you _ keep going _ , and I'll just -- hah. Ride it out. So to speak."  
  
"Should I try to hold you down so you can't _ kick _ me."   
  
"No visible bruises," David said, with effortful articulation. "Other than that, I _ do not care _ ."  
  
"You beautiful weirdo," Michael effused.  
  
"You should talk." 

Michael grabbed David's waist with both hands and flipped him over. He kneaded his knuckles into David's flesh, into ass and thighs. David made a sound like he was pressed against something hot. 

Michael chuckled. He took a handful of ass and squeezed. This made one of David's legs twitch dangerously. Michael held the offending leg down with a sharp elbow, causing David to whine in something that wasn't pain.  
  
Michael, face dangerously close to where ass met thigh, leaned forward and bit.

David attempted to kick again. Michael held firm. He began to nibble, up and around. He began to lick, down and inside. 

Something high-pitched and yowl-like escaped David, and then broke into a giggle. Michael waggled his tongue in triumph. David became more pliant beneath him, warm and soft to the touch. Michael scrambled for the lubricant. 

He turned David over and back toward him, catching him by the throat, pulling him into a rough kiss. If he stopped to think -- he couldn't, he had to keep his mouth on David like his life depended on it -- it would have broken the weird spell, the fever dream where he was going to _ fuck David _ would have dissipated, leaving them both sweaty and embarrassed. He did not think. He was a body in want of another body, half-aware of itself. He slid a slick finger into David, who bit him on the lip.  
  
"Honestly," Michael breathed, suddenly protective of his mouth. It didn't matter. When he looked into his eyes, David was somewhere else, gaze unfocused, trying to find purchase with his hips. Michael was painfully aware of his own arousal. He dragged his finger in and out of David, who was openmouthed and ready. 

David's arms pulled him forward, sinewy but strong. Michael squeezed his eyes tight as he entered him, then relaxed. David wrapped his legs around him. Michael kissed him again, mouth enveloping his, before drawing back for a snarling thrust.

Michael focused on David's face as he fucked him, the hair sweat-stuck to his brow, the sound he made like _ awe _ hollowed out. David splayed a leg, pointed his toes. Michael fucked him until David's legs shook. He fucked him until he couldn't see straight, until he came and collapsed into a warm, wet pulse. 

Once he regained his breath, Michael eased out of David, who breathed loud and low from the back of his throat. David was still hard; Michael teased his erection with his fingers, just to watch David jump. He propped himself up on an elbow, to see David's face. He slicked his fingers again and took David's cock in hand, watching his expression as he stroked. David's eyes were closed, his mouth slack. Michael loved the little lines between David's brows, loved his lips, loved the little cry he made as his cock jerked involuntarily in Michael's hand, spilling back onto him. 

They lay together on the bed, a crosswise sprawl of limbs. Michael passed David a tissue from the bedside table, which seemed polite. David nuzzled into his shoulder with a small sigh of satisfaction.

"Well," Michael said.  
  
"Well," David echoed.  
  
"I had a nice time."  
  
"I did too."

Michael was stuck on something. He decided to try to grasp for it. "I like you an awful lot."  
  
David smiled, and kissed whatever part of Michael's skin was closest to him, without opening his eyes. 

Michael let this last for a long time before speaking again, but the something else was nagging at him. He had never had a filter in these moments, and he wasn't about to start now. 

"Are you satisfied?"  
  
David's eyes blinked open. "With this? Sure!" David put a reassuring hand on Michael's arm. "If you feel out of practice or something, you don't need to worry about that."

David had an itch that had been spectacularly scratched. That hadn't been the question. 

"I suppose I can't steal you away, can I," Michael mused. "From your wife and your half-dozen children."  
  
David didn't correct him on the number. "I am absolutely spoken for," he said. "But really --" He leaned forward and kissed Michael again. "Five stars. Not joking."  
  
"No, I -- I admire you," Michael said.  
  
"Weird timing, but acceptable." 

"And you seem happy."  
  
"I am," David said. "Aside from the stage fright and the cross-Atlantic transit annoyances, it's a charmed existence." He cocked his head. "Are you someone who gets depressed after getting his rocks off?" 

"If you'll indulge me --" Michael started.  
  
"I did, and I would again."  
  
"Because we're here, and I keep thinking about our characters --"  
  
"Oh," David said quietly. "_That _ sort of indulgence."

"You...know what you're about, ultimately," Michael said. "And I realize that I miss being him, because I knew what he loved. He loved _ you _ ."  
  
Michael wondered how David looked shocked, but not surprised, at the same time. 

  1. ** London, May 2019****  
  
**

"It didn't occur to me," Michael teased as they neared the hotel, "that if I _ had _ sent you a few filthy emoji, you wouldn't have _ understood _ them."  
  
"You didn't send me any eggplants," David retorted.  
  
"No, but I _ thought _ about it." 

It had been good to be back in London, for the whirlwind of press interviews and chat shows leading up to the premiere tomorrow. Michael had been eager to sink his teeth back into this thing they'd made, that he had loved making. David had been game, a little less effusive and perhaps unintentionally hilarious -- David who had just announced he was having a _ fifth _ child, and that he didn't understand dirty texts.

Off-camera, David hadn't been cold, and that had been reassuring. And that's what he had been, reassuring, his hand on Michael's back that of a friend. It hadn't been charged, not sexy, but had been looking out for his feelings. _ Don't go getting yourself hurt_. A kindness. 

Michael, like a fool, felt compelled to find out how far that kindness went. 

Which is why Michael tried to kiss him on the way into the hotel, and David gave him a look that could have damn near been a slap.  
  
"They'll see us!" David hissed, dodging out of sight.  
  
"Who will?"  
  
"Doesn't matter!" David flung an arm toward the street. "Cameraphones!"  
  
"There's nobody out --"  
  
"First you flirt with me the entire presser, and then you try to get _ caught _ !"  
  
Before Michael could protest that he didn't seem to mind, not really, David stalked upstairs and ordered him not to follow. 

The next day, when David didn't come down in time, Michael had the sinking feeling that it was his fault. He also thought that was a terrible, self-centered thing to think. He went along with it anyway.  
  
"Terribly sorry, just let me talk to him," Michael said, to what he figured were David's people. They let him through.

Upstairs, David was curled into a fetal position on the bed.  
  
_ You've ruined a perfectly good David_, Michael thought. _ Look at him, he's got anxiety _. 

"I apologize," Michael said, "for making you uncomfortable."

David extended a hand, ever so slightly, like a snail peeking out of his shell. Michael took it, waiting to see if David would recoil. He didn't. Michael sat beside him on the bed. 

David was mostly-dressed, with his sportcoat on the chair. Michael put his hand on David's back, waited, and began to move it back and forth, caressing lightly.  
  
"You're brilliant," Michael said, "and everyone loves looking at and listening to you, and it would be awfully difficult to convince them otherwise. You've already done the hard bits, all we've got left is a few more hours of saying 'everyone was lovely to work with, we're very proud of what we've made, can't wait for you to see it.'"

David's breath became deeper, even, calm.

"I would like," David said, finally, "to shake this feeling that by going out there with you, I'm taking some sort of terrible risk." 

Michael's question wasn't helpful, but he had to ask. "Are you worried about being outed in the press?" he asked, his voice pitching higher than he meant it to be.

"No," David said, propping himself up and pointing an accusing finger. "_ No _ . Don't you dare think that. I haven't got any problem with some shared intimacy between friends."  
  
"Is that what you'd call it?" Michael blurted, before realizing, yes, that's exactly what he'd call it.  
  
"What I've got a problem with," David continued emphatically, "is the _ attention _ . The intensive, pointless scrutiny. Like I tell everyone! And the press acting like my personal life is some kind of _ scandal _ would make the attention ten times worse, easily." 

David was sitting up, now out of the fetal position, which Michael considered a positive development. 

"Even if it were treated as a scandal," Michael reflected, "I don't think that would bother me."  
  
"Because you're either very brave or completely out of your mind."

Michael shrugged. "Surely you've dealt with this..._ potentiality _ before." 

"Certain people," David started, "who _ may _ have been named John Barrowman, are very direct. Very _ straightforward_. And they want to get sucked off in a green room without mentioning the word 'love' once." 

"Ah," Michael said. So it was his terrible barrage of feelings that had done it, after all.

"It's easy to keep separate when it's not _ real _ ," David explained, gesturing with one hand, flinging annoyance back into the world. "When it's a role, or just something you did."  
  
"Well," Michael said carefully, "it also _ was _ a role." 

David dropped a hand, confounded. "Have you got a handle on the difference?"

"Well, when there's a camera on," Michael explained, "then it's fanservice. The thing the fans want. Like when the cybermen fought the daleks, except this time it's the details of how your character is in love with my character." 

"I know what fanservice is," David scoffed. "I'm _ offline_, not _ dead_."  
  
"I believe in what we're doing," Michael said calmly. "But I don't want you to suffer. Do you want me to back off?" 

"You're very kind," David said, sincere. He looked at him, soft again, and they hugged, attempting to smooth out David's jangled nerves.  
  
"We could set some ground rules," Michael suggested gently. "I won't hold your hand during the premier."  
  
"That's probably for the best," David said, sighing. He turned, exasperated again, toward the ceiling. "But there isn't anything wrong with that. Sorry. It's rubbish now that I say it out loud."  
  
"So you want me to..." Michael prompted.  
  
"Not deny that we acted a love story," David said. "Denying it is backwards. I'm not doing that."

Michael was charmed by this detail. More, he thought, than perhaps he ought to be.  
  
"And I think you ought to hold my hand inside the theater. Once the lights go down."  
  
Michael's heart melted, warm and buttery. He didn't know what to do about that. "That sounds lovely." 

"Hand me that prescription bottle," David commanded. "We've got _ fanservice _ to do."   


Inside the darkened theater, David lay a whole forearm on the armrest between them, palm up. Michael lay his arm on his, clasping his hand. Michael stole glances at David, at the quirk of a smile that appeared even though they'd already seen this part, and tapped his toes at the good bits.

"I've got a thing next week," David said, during a quiet part, in the dark. "But after that you can come to London for a bit. If you're available."  
  
"You've got a thing next week," Michael said, in an excellently articulated whisper. "Meaning, you've got to go address a huge room of fans dressed like you?"  
  
"Yeah, like I said, I've got a thing."  
  
"Well, I've got a thing too," Michael said. "But it's a lot of charity work in Wales, so I can do London."  
  
Their characters returned to the screen. "I love this bit," Michael whispered. "You were wonderful in it."  
  
David squeezed his hand, gently. "You were wonderful, too." 

  1. ** London, later that summer, 2019  
  
**

David had a baby on his arm, and a Michael on the couch.

It was quiet, and David took stock of what was different. The eldest was at work, the middle two children were at camp, the three-year-old was at the park with a family friend and the dog, and Georgia was, understandably, asleep. Later they would all come barreling back -- and Michael would be good at that, good at helping _ entertain _ \-- but for now, it was quiet. 

And Michael was here, which was different. 

Michael was, technically, staying in the guest bedroom. David could, theoretically, flit back and forth between that and the master bedroom, depending on what Georgia felt like. And given how amused Georgia had been by Michael, how warm she'd been when Michael hugged them both hello, there might, possibly, potentially, be a third option. For later. 

David had -- obviously -- promised to do whatever Georgia wanted. (Which was something he said fairly often, but especially now, and with the new baby.) For now, what Georgia had wanted was three extra pillows and a midday nap, so David had scooped up the new baby and taken them to the living room, where Michael was laughing at something on a laptop.

"Look!" he said, spinning the laptop around to show him the headline on a blog post. "I'm the internet's new boyfriend. They thought it was going to be you, but it's me!"

"Aw-bwahbwahbwahbah," David said, to the baby. "And...congratulations? Hope they're not too demanding."  
  
"There are an awful lot of young people saying I helped them feel better about themselves," Michael said. "Oh, and I was absolutely right about the pornography."  
  
"Psshhh," David said, and went back to making fish faces at the baby. The baby was very small, and couldn't do much besides flail their limbs and grunt a bit, but that wasn't important. It was important that the baby heard happy voices, and felt secure.  
  
Michael was saying something about the queer youth and marginalized gender expression and being lucky, as an actor, to get to walk in other people's shoes but then step out of them again. "And of course I support them and I want to _ tell _ them so," Michael said. "I think we're going to keep going 'round til our collective hearts burst."

"Are you crying?" David said.  
  
"Crying is cool," Michael said. The baby fussed. "See, the baby agrees with me." 

David, still standing, rested the baby to his chest, head on his shoulder. He looked sidelong at Michael as they bounced. _ He needs this_, David thought. _ He needs lots of places for his big weird heart to go, or he'll explode_. 

David patted his fifth child on the back. _ Well, _ he thought. _ That's not too unusual_.

When the baby stopped fussing, David sat down, baby on the right, Michael close by on the left. Michael hooked an arm around David and leaned over to kiss the baby's tiny toes. David reached for Michael with his free hand and squeezed near his knee, reassuring. David felt calm, and secure, and fully convinced that there was love enough to go around. 

**Author's Note:**

> *real baby hasn't been born yet; this baby is fictional (along with everything else).


End file.
